


At the Corner of Fucked and Apathetic

by laughablyunimportant



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-03
Updated: 2012-04-03
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:42:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6656479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughablyunimportant/pseuds/laughablyunimportant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider decides to be nice to the new guy on the corner because hey, it doesn't cost him anything, right?</p><p>Well, no, okay, it might cost him, but like. When has Dave ever been a paradigm of good decisions? That's right, never. No need to break the trend now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Corner of Fucked and Apathetic

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this in 2012, and I still like it now, in 2016, but I don't know anything about sex work, and I didn't when I wrote it. So if you read this and end up laughing because it's super inaccurate, or just kind of pursing your lips because ugh, people just don't get what sex work is really like, then like. My apologies. And also feel free to lambaste me in the comments.

When a new face appears on the corner Friday night, none of the other workers are very happy about it.

You, you figure, what the hell. The guy's five two, if that, puts off a vibe that says "touch me and I'll cut you," but still has a bit of plump on his frame. If you had to guess, you'd say he's fresh on the block, fresh from running away from home, and you were there once. Besides, if he turns tail and runs, goes back to his peachy keen picket fence life, maybe he'll remember the guy that helped him out.

More likely he'll just scare off all your clients. But whatever. A couple nights off won’t kill you. Probably.

"Sup?"

His eyes flick to you for a second, then away, in that way that says he's trying not to let you know he's afraid. You do him the courtesy of not smirking. "What the fuck do you want?" His voice sounds like he's been choking his way through nothing but tar cigarettes for the last decade, all gravel and 'fuck off.' 

You give him a shrug, eyes scanning the empty street. "Just making conversation, dude. I'm not your enemy." You can feel his gaze on you, not trying to get you to leave or anything, just maybe trying to figure you out. "You playing the game?"

He doesn’t ask you what the game is, and you’re not sure if you’re disappointed or approving of his ability not to ask stupid questions. Makes for a less entertaining night, that’s for sure.

He gives you a wary node and a gravelly, "Yeah." 

You lapse into silence again, only a few feet apart on the corner, before a car turns down the street, and you hold a pose. Nothing garish or lewd, just the loose slouch, jeans hanging low on your hips, too-short shirt showing a peek of skin, lips parted and hair tossed back. Sexy, nonthreatening, competent. You get picked up and taken for a ride.

Twenty minutes later and you're back on the corner, strutting up to the new guy, swishing mouthwash for thirty seconds before spitting it out in the gutter. You can feel him looking at you some more, then, "How long you been at this?" Bingo. 

"A while." He fidgets, and you know he wants to ask you more, but doesn't know how. You're not going to make it easy on him.

It continues like that, you getting picked up every so often, just small stuff, blowjobs and handjobs, one guy who only wants to get you off, which is fine by you. You wipe off between each round and go back to the corner, mouthwash and baby wipes a life saver, the new guy always there waiting for you. Not really a surprise, he's not going to get any pick-ups unless he changes the way he presents himself. 

And then, _she_ arrives.

You see her gold sedan turning onto the street a block up, and you don't have time to fuck around if you want to catch her. You grab the new guy's hand, gripping tight when he tries to pull away, and ask, "You clean?" he stares at you blankly, so you tug at him, hissing the question again. He nods, a muttered, "Yeah, yeah, fuck," before you're pulling him along toward her, right up to the edge of the curb. She must catch sight of you, because she rolls past the others and pulls alongside, rolling down her window. Twilight eyes peer at you from under gold bangs, and you lean back, giving her a nice, slow smirk. "Looking for a show? Because we've got a two-for-one special, this corner only, that'll blow your mind."

She smiles back, a flash of teeth inside a dark mouth made darker with black lipstick. "Oh? What brings about this sudden generosity?"

"Oh, you know," you say, giving a toss of your hair to the other side of the street. "Anything to piss off Sollux."

She laughs, the sound more suited for a high-society brunch than this broken-down street, and you hear the click of her doors unlocking. "An admirable pursuit. Is all night acceptable, or do you need to check your calendar?" 

"Nah," you say. "You know I'm always willing to clear my schedule for you, Lalonde." You nudge Karkat toward the back, opening the door for him before leaning close and planting a kiss on his cheek. He starts, so you grab him by the back of the neck to hold him close, say nice and low, "Follow my lead, okay? Lalonde likes a show." He nods dumbly, eyes wide, and you help him into the car before going around to the other side. 

* * *

Karkat sits in the back of a stranger’s car, tries not to flinch when the other guy slides into the seat from the opposite door, scooting all the way over to the middle seat instead of just staying in his proper place.

The lady up front eyes him in her rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow. "Not going to keep me company up here?"

The other guy grins up at her, and Karkat wonders where it comes from, that confidence, that ability to read people and give them what they want. "No," he says, and then he, fuck, what the hell? He tucks his feet up on the seat, leaning into Karkat and giving her a "I'd rather keep _him_ company back here," before fucking _snuggling_ into him, pressing his face into his neck. 

Karkat blushes, eyes flicking up to meet the woman's in the mirror—Lalonde, was it?—and she's staring right back at him, gaze serene and patient, like she's—waiting for something? He looks back down, at the mop of dirty blonde hair pressed against his skin, and feeling self-conscious as hell, leans down to press a kiss to the other guy’s scalp. He presses a little closer to Karkat in response, and Karkat settles an unsure arm around his shoulders, stroking his hair with his other hand. Lalonde makes a sound of appreciation from the front seat before pulling away from the curb, and Karkat. Wonders what the hell he’s getting into. And why it makes him sort of glad that whatever happens tonight, it'll happen with this guy by his side.

Shit. He doesn't even know his name.


End file.
